


Brat

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Dom Hux, sub Kylo [43]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo can be one.





	Brat

“I said: no.”  


Kylo’s breathing does that little hitch thing it does, the one that comes right before his voice creaking up all immature and whiny, or before he starts deciding to use and abuse the Force again.

Which he is expressly forbidden from doing. Not without permission or instruction. And which - being Kylo Ren - he occasionally does _anyway._

“Hh—”  


“I said: **no**. I’ve said it three times, now.” Hux lowers his datapad, and sights along the barrel of his nose. Which is difficult, because Ren is standing, and Hux is not.   


Hux does not often demand full protocol (often), but there are times when it’s useful. Not for him, because he knows _his_ place, but for Kylo, who needs to be reminded. 

“You haven’t told me _why_.”  


“You do not need to know why. You simply need to know that I have made a decision. Not only have you ignored and challenged my decision, you are now continuing to be irksome. I can only assume your goal is to irritate me.”  


“ _No_.”  


Ah, the bratty child tone. Whiny and snotty. 

Hux puts the datapad down, and he sees the sudden tension on Kylo’s face. That urge to both obey, and disobey. He pushes and pulls at any chink in the armour, clawing to see if today is the day he can get away.

Once - a long time ago - Hux had seen those challenges as _real_. They still are, in a sense: if Kylo ever didn’t feel Hux was sincere enough, he’s sure the brat would leave. But now he sees them simply as a function of Ren’s insecurity, and not a real insult. He _needs_ to feel he’s properly controlled, because he can’t do it for himself. 

Hux says nothing. He does not need to. He watches as Ren vibrates with his frustration, his will battling against Hux’s own. Lips curled, nostrils wider than a waiting hangar bay… he’s been pushing at the edges of their relationship for days, now.

“I’m not going to–”  


“ _Kneel_ ,” is all Hux says.  


Perhaps he should have stayed utterly silent, but he’s feeling minorly irritated. 

You do not lead by _force_ , or by **the** Force, but simply by being a leader.

Then Kylo rankles, and Hux can tell his skin is goosepimpled under all that black. He can _tell_. He can smell the confused arousal, mixed with fear, loathing, love, and adoration. Ren is a walking contradiction in every sense: he talks big, acts big… but really he just wants to be taken in hand. All that hot air is simply to cover over the gaping holes inside of him. 

He’s fighting his pride, but Hux… well. Hux is not going to bend so easily. Sometimes he enjoys properly slapping the man down, but more often than not, he prefers to win without even lifting a hand.

Kylo’s gloves creak, and his feet scrape across the floor: his toes moving outwards as his stance goes more solid, more… reliable. He wants to obey, but he wants to be made to obey, too. 

And Hux knows sometimes… you have to show you don’t need to lift a hand to make your will be heard.

“Hux…” A tone of pleading, now. He’s almost there, and he’s _asking_ , now, not just yelling.  


“Go to the bedroom. Bring the box. Kneel.”  


A concession for a concession. Hux is not unfeeling, and he knows Kylo is trying so very, very hard. That’s the worst part: knowing how badly his lover needs the punishment, and how much he can’t bring himself to _ask_.

The next pause is shorter, and Ren storms off. 

Hux - as ever - has won.

A moment later and he’s back, holding their precious toy box, sweeping his cloak behind him as he gracefully falls to one knee, and holds the varnished wooden chest up for him. His head is bowed, though the tension in his jaw says he’s not yet _down_. 

Hux opens the small footlocker and pulls out one of his favourite (and thus, Kylo’s most hated and adored in one) items: a single, thin but sturdy collar. A looped ring at the front, and tight buckles with holes well loved from ‘gentle tug on a leash’ to ‘making it hard to swallow without effort’ all worked through. 

Kylo looks ashamed, his hair curtaining him off from the world, as Hux slips the band around, over his clothing. It closes with a satisfying feeling of finality, and then Hux crooks a single finger under his chin, and tilts Kylo’s head up to meet his eyes.

He wants to behave so badly, in both meanings of the term. Hux wonders if he’d be this neurotic if he’d been properly instilled with the correct values he had, or his troopers… but it is too late for that, now. The _Republic_ spoiled this boy. The _Jedi_. Even - blasphemy upon blasphemy - the Supreme Leader. They let him become this way.

Hux watches the war rage on in Kylo’s face, and he knows how _hard_ he is fighting to be good, how _difficult_ it is. His hand lifts, and the slap across his cheek turns that face away. Kylo doesn’t reset his position, simply keeps his head turned down until Hux pulls it back up again.

This time his eyes stay lowered, and the slap that turns his face away is welcomed. His cheeks are pretty pink, just like his lips, and the fight is coming and going in ever more rapid - yet faint - cycles. 

His shields are failing.

“What did you do wrong?” Hux asks, unable to keep the sneer out of his tone. He means it lovingly, but it doesn’t sound it.  


“I questioned you.”  


“And?”  


The man’s brow furrows, his tongue almost swallowed. “I… spoke out of turn.”

“ _And_?”  


“I… did not ask nicely for what I needed.”  


Which Kylo _can’t_. When he’s feeling like this, it isn’t possible for him to politely ask to be brought back into line. That’s the _point_. But he will still be reprimanded for it. 

Hux slips his finger into the ring, and rises. He walks past Kylo - causing the boy to scramble to follow or be choked - and tugs him behind like the bitch he is. Walks him right to the edge of the bed, and then drops hold.

A pause, and then Kylo hurries to his feet. His face goes right into the mattress as his hands move to lift his robes and push down his pants, baring his ass as quickly as he can manage. 

Hux appreciates the change, the obedience, which is why the first slap is his bare hand. It stings himself to deliver it, but it’s so much more… personal. He feels the quiver up his badly behaved lover’s spine, sees it in the shimmy of fabric. Again, and again. The pain he’s delivering is not all that significant, if truth be told, but it’s the shame of being spanked like the little brat he is. Bent over and reprimanded, without another word.

The words inside Kylo’s head would always be worse than any he could speak aloud, after all.

Slap, slap, slap until he can sense his boy is crying, crying from a mixture of shame, gratitude, distress, and love. He knows Hux will take care of him, or else he would never have let him lay a finger on that normally-swaddled skin. Hux rubs soothingly over the flesh, and then turns to the box. 

He’s only half hard, really, because whilst he enjoys the control… he also feels… empathy? He hurts for him. He has to stroke the lube firmly over his shaft to get himself ready, and he knows Kylo can take it. He knows, because he fucks him often enough. Not always with his cock, and not always to completion, but he’s been a good boy in the end, so he’ll get it, now. 

In he pushes, and Kylo’s hands claw at the bedding. He’s begging, now, his voice almost inaudible as he pleads for more. Chokes that he doesn’t deserve it, that it should hurt, that he’s sorry. He is, Hux knows. He’s very sorry, and that’s why he murmurs nonsense in return as he holds his bare hips still to sheathe himself inside.

 _That_ finishes off his own arousal, getting him properly hard when already buried inside. He holds himself there, then grabs a handful of dark hair. 

“You know who you belong to.”  


“You,” Kylo whispers, his voice shredded like cantina jazz.  


“You know who is in control.”  


“ _You_.”  


“And you know who loves you.”  


No reply, just tears of relief, of frustration giving way, of terror and horror and love. Hux moves his hand to the front of Kylo’s throat, over the collar, and he fucks him with all the strength he has. 

The boy just needs the right Master, after all. It’s not his fault no one else is good enough.


End file.
